


Callout

by This is Underwhelming at Best (Sangatsu)



Series: Audience Duplication [3]
Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, M/M, Some dnnz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangatsu/pseuds/This%20is%20Underwhelming%20at%20Best
Summary: Yes, please maintain amicable relationships with your coworkers
Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/Nezu | Piers
Series: Audience Duplication [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661776
Kudos: 35





	Callout

Melony once asked him if her writer wrote ‘galericurate’ right. Four lines above the word was a paragraph ended with ‘it’s not mean if everyone agrees it’s for your own good’. 

Since then, the editorial’s monthly karaoke session is no longer a hassle he has to get over with. It’s a mental torture.

Even Milo is here. Some writers whose names he forgets are here. The writer of said sentence is now singing Lay All Your Love on Me with the editor in chief. At least someone had ordered chicken, fries, beer, and cola he can occupy himself with.

Leon is definitely a tad bit manipulative. Just a bit, because he’s a sweet fellow and Piers likes thinking that he works under someone who at least will try to not fry his brain too much during crunch mode. 

He always gives this sad puppy face whenever Piers says he may be ‘too busy’ to join them. Then he would give him a small smile, say it’s okay which is followed by “I just love hanging out with you guys somewhere that doesn’t smell like paper and ink, where we’re not editors, just buddies with beer and fries.”

If only he could be meaner, he could just spend this weekend practicing or watching Pretty Little Liars with Marnie and maybe spoil it for her a bit. If Raihan and Bea are not singing I Will Survive with varying levels of enthusiasm and tone deafness, the poultry he’s munching right now would at least taste decent. 

He’s nibbling on a wing when Raihan says into the mic, ”I call for Piers for the next one.” 

Oh hell no. And everyone cheers in agreement. Leon is the loudest. Milo plays the tambourine a little louder. Even Nessa joins others exclaiming his name. “Come up, tiger,” Raihan says with a grin.

“Let me finish this first.” Everyone doesn’t allow that. Bea hands the microphone into his greasy chicken hand.

The screen is blocked by Raihan’s body. Seriously, the guy is so big he must eat a bowl of protein powder with a spoon for breakfast. Said giant bites his lip and gives Piers puppy eyes. Then he mouths ‘sorry’.

Bea tugs him to stand upward. His workmates’ cry is deafening at this point. 

He should just stay home. 

Leon’s next invitation will be refused. For now, think of it like ripping off a bandaid, like ripping off a wax strip off the forest that is your leg. Pain is everywhere, they’re meant to get over quickly. 

He chooses the first two minute song on the list. He keeps his face on the screen despite knowing every single word in And I Love Her, because feeling eyes on his back is painful enough and there’s no need to add more by staring at his suddenly silent audience. Maybe it’s because he’s still holding a half eaten chicken wing.

Bless The Beatles for creating a two minutes classic. He passes the microphone to someone nearby, which turns out to be Raihan holding a beer can mid way to his mouth. He doesn’t take it.

“I’m not singing again.”

“You should,” Nessa says.

The room’s atrocious red and orange polka dot carpet suddenly looks very interesting. “Please take the microphone, Raihan.”

Again, no matter how much his editor in chief begs and cries next time, he will just say he’s dogsitting for his neighbor or something. He’ll drag Marnie to the living room and rent DVDs like the good old days. He won’t have to watch writers whose names he forgets trying to sing Sugartown with a girly voice. And he won’t have to sit next to Raihan and feel his stare as he chews on cheese fries.

He gives in. “I sang for a band.”

“That’s cool.”

“It was just okay.” That doesn’t make sense. “Many people have bands they play with in their garages. It’s not that weird.” Better. 

Raihan hums. He puts an arm behind Piers’ shoulders, perhaps because he’s sorry for making him sing for an audience he doesn’t want to perform for and he wants to give him a sense of solidarity. Piers cracks open another can of beer.


End file.
